A Talk with the Coach

Despite all the strange thoughts that had been filling my mind for the first time in my life over the past week, when I boarded the plane with my coach to head to the National Tournament arena, I felt much calmer than I expected—just as I usually did before any other competition.

I didn’t have much to worry about. Besides Aubrey, only one other woman—a 20-year-old named Rebecca—had qualified for the tournament, and the remaining 13 athletes were all men, many of whom I had already defeated in the past during men’s competitions.

Plus, aside from my coach, no one else from the team or my family would be coming to watch me in person, which really helped with my shyness.

Despite this, during the flight, the Coach had to ask me something, in a concerned tone:

“I know about your sparring match with Sofia last week. I couldn’t help but notice how she managed to pin you to the mat while you were distracted by your erection. I never thought I’d have to coach you on the sexual aspect of the sport—you’ve never shown any interest in girls or guys. What’s changed?”

Now, I’ve never had many friends, but I was very close to the few I did have—in one way or another—and I confided all my secrets and problems to them. Coach Mike was one of those people. Mike was only 28; he was a young but experienced coach, and when I started wrestling at 15, he took me under his wing like an older brother.

I hadn’t talked to anyone about Aubrey yet, but now it seemed like the right time.

“Nothing, Mike. It’s just that this past year I met a girl online. She wrestles, too, and she’s the other girl competing in the tournament—the one who came in second at the Women’s Tournament two years ago." Mike was surprised.

"I think I might have a crush on her—I’m not sure. It’s just that thinking about her makes me feel weird, and on top of that, she wouldn’t stop teasing me. This past week she’s given me a break and hasn’t texted me, but that’s been worse because I couldn’t stop thinking about her." Now the coach was started to feel a bit worried.

"But she’s the only one who makes me feel this way—if I don’t think about her, nothing happens.”

Coach Mike had a grimace that was halfway between a mocking smile and a snarl of anger. After a huff, he added, “Did you really have to fall in love right before such an important tournament? Damn you, but it was about time. I don’t know whether to be happy or furious, but let’s just hope this Aubrey gets eliminated before you have to face her.”

The rest of the trip went smoothly, with the coach explaining to me how other athletes had probably trained at least a little on the erotic aspect of the sport—to incorporate new, stimulating techniques among the various holds and throws—but he wasn’t worried about me, because he was convinced that no one could match my technique or strength.